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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237152">he handed me a pair of pliers and he told me to pull out his teeth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dog teeth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety Attacks, But if it was bad, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Nothing explicit, Panic Attacks, Referenced Manipulation, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Tommy exile arc, Trauma, all implied pretty much</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:08:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Tommy had a really bad time in exile?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dog teeth [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>he handed me a pair of pliers and he told me to pull out his teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Nicole Dollanganger's song 'Dog Teeth'<br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thunk<br/>
Thunk<br/>
Thunk<br/>
Siff<br/>
Plonk<br/>
Hiss<br/>
Crackle<br/>
Creak<br/>
Pop<br/>
<i>Bang</i></p>
<p>All the minutiae of life echoed from above the stone floor and the wooden boards. Eyes turned to the ceiling, tracing each movement in a zig-zag pattern, wide and watching and waiting as the owner of the heavy footfalls roused about overhead. </p>
<p>He crouched, tucked into the smallest corner, knees pulled to his chest and back curved into a permanent bend as he waited and shook and trembled. Frigid fingers wrapped themselves about his own ankles, curved into claws, into frozen facades of hands as he waited and watched and waited and watched-- Nails ragged and turned to weapons from the scratches he'd left burrowed in the stone walls, knives for nails with no knife to cling to. </p>
<p>Dangerous. </p>
<p>Dangerous. </p>
<p>It was all so very dangerous. </p>
<p>How foolish to have left. Stupid. <i>Fucking idiot</i>; he might have said. Might have. It was hard to talk anymore. Teeth wound so tight against each other, jaw like a spring loaded trap that only ever stayed shut. </p>
<p>He had tried to bite once. Only once. It hadn't ended well. He had learned to keep his mouth shut after that.</p>
<p>The thudding footfalls clacked and shifted and pounded their way across the threshold again. The only light that seeped through from the small opening where he had stuffed the entry into his little tomb closed from prying eyes. </p>
<p>Maybe he would just die down here. </p>
<p>Among the litter and rats and rocks. The cold wrapped around him, not like a friend, <i>never like a friend</i>. The cold was not warm, seeking fingers or hands on his shoulders that slid to the nape of his neck and down his spine. The cold was not a friend. It didn't press it's thumbs into his throat or it's nails into his wrists. The cold was a former aquaintance. Stood atop a wall, paved of obsidian and malice, words dripping from it's lips like exile and ruin. </p>
<p>He welcomed the cold. </p>
<p>Thud </p>
<p>       Thud</p>
<p>                  <i>Thud</i> </p>
<p>The footsteps were too close-- too close-- far too close. His breath ripped from him in ragged pants, ribs expanding and falling like creaking bellows, eyes frantically scouring above.</p>
<p> He prayed-- not to a god-- never to a god. </p>
<p>He muffled his own breathing against his knees, head burrowed into his legs, and if he dissapeared, if he vanished he would welcome it. It would be better than the waiting. </p>
<p>The owner of the steps murmured to themselves, words muffled by layers of cobble, and it gnawed at his ears like insects, burrowing and chattering and eating their way down and down until he thought his head might split and run with spindly legs and bulbous abdomens. Swollen ticks and writhing maggots clogged and stuck in his throat as he croaked and croaked-- </p>
<p>Heat splashed and dripped and sluiced down his cheeks and he didn't try to stop it. He jerked and flinched away from the phantom touch that wiped them away-- <i>no one was here, no one was here, no one was here, no one was</i>-- He pawed away the memory, frantically swiped and clawed and slapped at his face until it stopped, until roughened, calloused palms and leather gloves became a biting sting. </p>
<p>It wasn't him. It wasn't. It couldn't be. He couldn't know. He couldn't. </p>
<p>Maybe he followed him. </p>
<p>No. The steps were too heavy. He moved light, like smoke and shadow. Steps always careful, always precise, as precise as a palm lain on his cheek or belted across his thigh. These were hurried, heavy, knocking steps and an announcement of a presence. It couldn't be him. </p>
<p>But they could be the same. </p>
<p>They could always be the same. They were friends...Or something like that. He had seen and heard them both speak with the other; while not friendly in the same ways as how he thought of friends, the two weren't enemies. </p>
<p>Maybe he would rat him out, sell him off like nothing back into his hands and that would be it. He would be back where he started. If not worse. </p>
<p>Dumped back in the crater of Logstedshire, not even a tent left. Just nothing. Nothing but his <i>friend</i>. </p>
<p>He should have jumped from the fucking tower. Not into the water. Should have scattered his meat and bones across the ground in a painting of viscera, left his brain to spill out of the chipped soup bowl of his cracked skull for Dream to stomp on. </p>
<p>If he had just jumped-- </p>
<p>If he had just jumped… </p>
<p>He pressed his shoulders back into the cobble, heel pushing and toes curling into the worn holes of his boots. If he pushed hard enough maybe he'd grind himself to bits against the stone. Or fall through it until he hit magma and molten earth. </p>
<p>He dug at the ground with his fingers, nails biting back in an uncomfortable strain against the gritted texture. The slide of blood under his fingertips nothing new. </p>
<p>The steps drew closer to his hiding spot. He watched and waited, watched and waited, teeth nearly chewing a hole through his lip, his cheek, his tongue, as he held back the whimpers and the squeaks and the shakes that would betray him. Him; the mouse in the cupboard, with the cat behind the door. </p>
<p>Maybe he would just kill him. He might welcome that too. Dream couldn't come back for him if he was dead. A dead friend was a dead end. </p>
<p>He laughed at the rhyme, a choked little sob that puttered and died with the flicker and fizzle of scattered torch light that flooded from the entrance to his little lair as a hand tugged free the plug he had shoved into the metaphorical drain. And like any drain, he could feel sensibility leak out of him and wind down the cauldron of his sanity as he scrambled up, pressed his back into the wall and scurried for the farthest crevice, inching further and further into the recesses the basement allotted him. </p>
<p>He sank into the dark and drifted there, aimlessly and with no tether as he bared his teeth and rocked and screwed his eyes shut as if it would stop the slow descent of feet upon every rung of the ladder. </p>
<p>It was him-- it was him-- it was-- it was-- oh, gods it was and he should never have left he should never have left he should never have he shouldn't have why did he leave why did he why did he why didn't he jump he should have jumped godswhydidnthejustfuckingjump-- </p>
<p>"Hello?" </p>
<p>He flinched back, collapsed with his back against the stone, scrabbling helplessly against the wall behind him, feet pushing and heels kicking against loose stone. Cornered and pinned, he imagined the whites of eyes reminisced more a feral animal than human. </p>
<p>"Uh... is somebody down here?" </p>
<p>He couldn't see who it was yet but it was only a matter of time-- Only a matter of time. And then he would be back in his reach, under his control, beneath his hands and he-- <i>why didn't he just jump?</i></p>
<p>"You know, I can tell you've taken some of my stuff. It's a bit rude to steal without asking first." </p>
<p>He shook his head, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. It wasn't his voice, too deep, too low and sallow like the timber of a tilled field on the eves of winter. But it was close, close in the way a frog and toad croak is, skewed and off, one throatier and deeper than the other, but with enough similar tones it sent his heart smashing and stomping around his chest. </p>
<p>The hiss and whine of tinder striking and the crack and bark of wood taking flame betrayed the light that filtered through his eyelids. A torch had been lit, placed upon this ugly little scene. </p>
<p>"Tommy?" </p>
<p>He shook his head. That name wasn't right, it wasn't right, something about it wasn't right-- he didn't like the way he said it-- <i>but he hadn't said it the same way</i>-- the way it curled and slid across his ear, in ghosting heated puffs of breath-- <i>this wasn't him, it wasn't him, his voice was different, everything was so different</i>-- he didn't like the way it stuck and slopped down against him, like it was dirty, like it was tainted and formed of muck and mud rather than just a name. </p>
<p>"Tommy, is that you? What the hell are you doing under my house?" </p>
<p>He trembled, shook his head so hard the world spun and he crashed down with it. </p>
<p>"Woah, hey, wait--" A laugh, nervous and strained split the air. "Tommy, chill, just hang on a second let me get a--" </p>
<p>He clawed at the ground, dragging himself along it, but away, as long as he could put space between him and everything else he would be fine, it would all be fine-- <i>he should have jumped, gods he wished he had fallen into the water and stopped breathing, he wished he had hit the lava and burnt up every inch of him until bruises and bites and scratches and every ounce of him blackened and sloughed off, til he was just bones and dust and wholly unfuckable dirt--</i> </p>
<p>The fist that dragged him up by his shirt sent him flailing, spitting and clawing, caution and composure thrown to the wind as he tugged and pulled and kicked.</p>
<p>"Hey! Hey! Tommy! Jesus, Tommy, just--" </p>
<p>His foot connected with something and the holy satisfaction of it all was enlightenment as he felt them let go and back off. </p>
<p>"Okay, okay, I'm not gonna grab you again. It's all good."  </p>
<p>He panted, stuck half collapsed on the floor, bloodied palms dug into the stone, one leg extended the other half folded beneath him. One eye glared over his shoulder, narrowed and watchful at the figure that crouched, a torch illuminated in one hoofed hand, the other held out, palm spread. </p>
<p>And it wasn't him. It was Technoblade. Technoblade who summoned the withers. Technoblade who betrayed them. Technoblade who betrayed him. Who could always go and do it all again-- </p>
<p><i>'Good things don't happen to heroes.'</i> </p>
<p>"Gonna freak out some more?" Technoblade asked, his crown glittering and glinting under the orange and yellows of the flame. </p>
<p>He watched the dance of light across the gold, swallowed thickly and reached up for his throat to make sure the razor thin press of metal there was just in his head. </p>
<p>"How'd you even get down here? Did Dream bring you here?" </p>
<p>He scurried back at the mention of him, hands extended before him as if to push the name and the idea of the person away, legs tucked tight against his chest as he found the comfort of a solid wall again. Arms dropped after a moment, going to wrap around himself as he eyed the pig that eyed him back. </p>
<p>"Uh…" Technoblade scratched at his face. "I'll admit, this is kinda awkward." </p>
<p>He watched him. Waited.</p>
<p>Technoblade settled back on his haunches, tapping on his cheek. "You got in a pretty good kick there by the way."

</p>
<p>He said nothing, just stared. </p>
<p>"You know, you usually never shut up. I'm not very good at holding conversations so you're making me do a lot of leg work I'm not cut out for." Technoblade chuckled, before sighing and frowning. </p>
<p>He had nothing to say to the man who could turn traitor all over again. All it would take is one walk back to Dream and that's it. <i>He should have never left, gods he should have never left--</i> </p>
<p>"Welp." Technoblade started, standing and leaving the torch to burn and crouch in a sconce. "Uh, I'll be back, just wait here... I guess." </p>
<p>He watched him crawl his way back up from the wasteland of the basement. Back to sunlight and snow and less depressing things, like the reek of blood and sweat and tears. </p>
<p>Or he could be turning him in. Contacting Dream, getting him to come and corral the feral soot-stained kid out of his house and back to the shore and the sand and the now non-existent tent with the shitty bed and the shittier sheets and the picture of the Queen he was sick of fucking looking at every time he was fu--</p>
<p>Technoblade descended the ladder again, a gapple clutched in one hand and a glass bottle of water in the other. He stooped, keeping himself low and keeping distance between them, he held out the items before him, an offering that seemed as peaceable as it was dangerous. </p>
<p>And this was dangerous. All of it was. What could be worth the cost of food and water here? </p>
<p>"I assume you haven't eaten anything you've taken yet considering--"  Technoblade gestured at his own face and he frowned at that. </p>
<p>He knew he looked like shit. But maybe it was better that way. Eyes dull, hair so greased it could light like a wick, skin bruised and purpled, lip split, swollen, bloody. He looked like shit, but he preferred it that way. </p>
<p>He creeped closer, shuffling an inch and then another, closing the gap between them, expecting a hand to dart out, close around his wrist and draw him so close he could smell the stink of pine and salt and hot breath drape itself over the crown of his head. </p>
<p>Instead, Technoblade let him snatch the golden apple, and then the water, and didn't move a single inch the whole time.  </p>
<p>"Thanks." He muttered, the words foreign and twisted as they rasped from his throat. </p>
<p>Technoblade's lips split into a grin. "He speaks! A miracle!" </p>
<p>"Shut up, bitch." He managed with a huff. </p>
<p>"Thought I'd have to do all the entertaining on my own." Technoblade tilted his head."How'd you get here anyway?" </p>
<p>
  <i>The sulfurous reek of ignited blasting powder, the stench of burnt wood, of smoldering wool and canvas, the half eaten up visage of Logstedshire standing in ruin around him and Dream above him, staring down at him, mask blank and impassive besides the smile, and head tilted, considering and reprimanding in the same breadth.</i>
</p>
<p>"I just... stumbled through the fucking snow and shit til I found somewhere warm."</p>
<p>"Did it really have to be my cabin, of all places?" </p>
<p>"Where the fuck else am I supposed to go?" </p>
<p>Technoblade shrugged. "I don't know. That sounds like a you problem." </p>
<p>He shook his head, shook it til his vertebrae clicked and he felt like he might hurl up empty bile. Nails dug into the tender flesh of the gapple and he thought his fist might shatter through the glass bottle as he pressed it to his chest. </p>
<p>"I can't go back." </p>
<p>Technoblade sighed. "I mean, you physically can. I don't see your legs broken, they seem perfectly fine to me." </p>
<p>"I--" He clenched his jaw, curling further into himself. "Please…" And the word burned and curled, hot as shame on his tongue. "I can't go back." </p>
<p>He couldn't go back. He couldn't. He wouldn't. </p>
<p>"Tommy…" </p>
<p>"Techno, please, I'm--" He shook his head for the thousandth time, until he thought his skull might detach from his spine all together. </p>
<p>All he could hear was the rush and roar of blood under his skin, of his heart in his throat, of the croon and sway and crack of a voice in his ear and hands on his shoulders and teeth in his neck and--</p>
<p>"I can't--" Exhale. "I can't--" Inhale. "I can't--" Exhale. "I ca--" </p>
<p>"Okay, okay, geez, chill, okay, look, hey, it's fine-- it's all good, Tommy, relax. Relax-- I'm not kicking you out right now." </p>
<p>He covered his mouth, afraid of what else might leave him. It all bunched at his throat and all he had to do was drop his hand and it would come spilling out, disgusting and steaming, like an unclogged sewer pipe. </p>
<p>And he had said right now. <i>Right now</i>… He wasn't kicking him out right now-- But maybe later. Maybe after Technoblade gets bored of him. After he gets annoyed. After Technoblade figures out he isn't worth the space or the effort or the oxygen the trees make and that he's stealing with every fucking useless little breath. </p>
<p>"You can stay here for the night, but we gotta figure out what to do with you in the morning, okay?" </p>
<p>'Gotta figure out what to do with you.' Like he was just some fucking object, a nuisance, a squeaky floorboard that sticks up a little too far and sometimes gets caught on your toe. He could always just be smashed down with more nails, kept quiet, thrown out, discarded entirely when he became useless and used and worn out like an old pair of dirty shoes.  </p>
<p>"Did you want to sleep down here or…?" </p>
<p>"Down here." </p>
<p>"Cool. Well, uh, I'll get you a blanket." </p>
<p> Technoblade left again and he was stuck staring at the golden apple in his fist. He could eat it. He could. He really could. And he was really hungry. To the point where the pain had faded and he felt more empty than sensation. </p>
<p>But if he ate it-- If he ate it-- If he dared to put it to his lips and teeth and bite down and take even a single bite-- </p>
<p>
  <i> 'You haven't eaten in a while have you?' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'Only bitch boys make time to cook fucking bread.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'You're an idiot.' The mask is as impervious as always as Dream holds out the loaf.  'Here.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He takes it, tears off a piece, slots it between his teeth, and the dough is still airy and fresh, still fluffy and warm and it's decent and well-made. A hand falls on his shoulder and he glances back up at Dream as he chews. The mask is always smiling, but he feels like he can tell when Dream is actually smiling behind it too. This is one of those moments, as Dream squeezes his shoulder, reassuring and nearly paternal, and his fingers move, slither their way up to the crook of his neck and rest, heavy and all too present. </i>
</p>
<p><i>His gut flips and twists, but he eats more of the bread, he's hungry and Dream has always been a bit of a touchy feely kind of bitch anyway--</i> </p>
<p>The sift of fabric against his skin sent him startling back, hands gripping and clinging at the blanket that had landed in his lap. He looked up at Technoblade who just deadpanned back, seemingly unsure what to do here. </p>
<p>"You sure you don't want to be up near the fire. It's kinda cold down here." </p>
<p>"Yeah." </p>
<p>"Okay, uh, well, guess I'm gonna go then…" Technoblade headed back for the ladder. "Have a good night?" </p>
<p>He snorted at that, the uneasiness somehow amusing from the big pig. "Night, big man." </p>
<p>Technoblade left and he immediately snuffed out the torch, grabbing it with his hand and ignoring the way it ate away at his fingers and palm. He just watched it until the flame snuffed out and died under his fist. And then it was blissful dark and silence again, beside the footsteps above him that slowly turned to even softer ones as Technoblade ascended to the higher floors. </p>
<p>He sagged against the cobbled wall, shaking out his fist and grabbing the water. He poured it over the burns, impassive and only out of habit. Infection wasn't good, but he couldn't even feel the pain. It was all a buzzing numbness slipped under his skin and ringing his fingers like a glove. The blisters and rising white patches of skin were all too visible, but he just couldn't fathom it was his hand and not someone else's. </p>
<p>A scar, straight and neat, nestled beneath the new wounds, glared back at him from the dim light the basement offered and he-- </p>
<p>
  <i> 'You've gotta stop hurting yourself in such stupid ways.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He rocks back on the cot in his tent, glaring at Dream who sat beside him, in the middle of tending to the bleeding cut at the center of his palm. 'It's not my fault you had your dumb fucking sword in the way of my hand.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'Maybe spend less time flailing about when you talk.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'Shutnthebfcuk up.' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Dream snorts and he just knows the other had rolled his eyes. The bandages wound and wound around his palm until Dream finishes and ties off the cotton strips with a pat to his hand that lingers and stays, and he goes to draw back his arm, but Dream holds his hand between his own and he looks back up at the empty plastic eyes of the mask. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'You trust me, don't you, Tommy?' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He laughs nervously, trying to tug his hand back, but the grip has turned unrelenting. 'I-- I mean, yeah of course, Big D, what kind of fucking question is that?' </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Dream finally lets him go and he holds his bandaged hand to his chest, other hand shielding it from view. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>'Just making sure,' Dream says, reaching up to ruffle his hair.</i>
</p>
<p><i>If Dream's hand lingers for too long, he doesn't call him on it. </i> </p>
<p>He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and ignored the seer of the burnt one as he pitched forward, hunched over his knees. He shook and tremored and it felt like his spine might rip out of his back or his ribs tear their way out of his chest as he just tried to breathe properly. It shouldn't be this fucking hard to use his lungs, but he couldn't seem to catch up with them-- </p>
<p><i>'I'm your friend, Tommy.'</i> </p>
<p>He slapped a hand over his ear, like the voice was a gnat he could just swat out of the air. </p>
<p><i>'I'd never hurt you.'</i> </p>
<p>Gritted teeth and fingers curled into his hair he had to stop himself from smashing his forehead through the stone floor just to get him out of his head, just to make him shut up for one fucking second, just one second-- </p>
<p><i>'You can trust me.'</i> </p>
<p>He stumbled to his feet, hands clutched over his ears and he thought he could feel that rise of hair along the nape of his neck, like someone was standing behind him, their breath lingering in the air as they haunted him-- </p>
<p><i>'None of them care about you.'</i> </p>
<p>He shook his head, bloodied hands curling around the bottom rung of the ladder. He had to leave. He had to get out. Something was down here with him. He had gotten down here with him somehow and it was only a matter of time before a hand grabbed his ankle, dragged him down and down and under him until--</p>
<p><i>'Not like I do.'</i> </p>
<p>The climb up was a struggle, his hands slicking each pole, feet sliding off the rungs, his chin striking the bamboo with a sickening crack of tooth against tooth that tore a whimper from his throat. The burns on his hand all but screeched for how much the pain tore through him again and again with every single inch he came closer to freedom. </p>
<p>He could practically feel him there, just at the base of the ladder, staring up with that fucking stupid mask, the dumb smiley face, the one that never changed but he could always tell it was <i>mocking</i>. It was only a matter of time, only a matter of moments before he'd feel hands on his shoulders, on his legs, on his throat, in his hair, around his wrists-- </p>
<p>He emerged within the bottom floor of Technoblade's cabin, coughing and gasping like a newly drowned man. He collapsed on his side, clutching at his ribs, fingers dug so far into his sides he might puncture his own organs. Fetal and fawn and vulnerable, far too vulnerable as he was stuck with his legs tucked tight to his chest, the floorboards practically a second skin with how they hugged along the whole of him. </p>
<p>It was bright up here, torches lining the walls, and at least he could see every corner, know they were empty, but that meant anyone could see him now. </p>
<p>It wasn't safe up here. </p>
<p>But it wasn't safe down there either. </p>
<p>It wasn't safe anywhere. </p>
<p>He would find him somehow. He always would. </p>
<p>"Tommy?" </p>
<p>He shrank further into himself, chin tucking to his chest, like if he made himself small enough Technoblade couldn't see him falling apart.</p>
<p>"Is it okay if I pick you up?" </p>
<p>He didn't answer, he didn't think he could even unclench his jaw at this point. That any movement would send them chattering. He felt cold, cold and frigid and like his veins were filled with lava and ice all at once. </p>
<p>"Tommy, you gotta answer me on this, I'm not gonna do anything you don't want me to." </p>
<p>He tried to grunt out a <i>'what does it fucking matter if you ask first'</i> but instead a frantic little whine slipped from him. </p>
<p>"Good enough." </p>
<p>Arms cradled under him, lifting him easily, and it should have been embarrassing how effortlessly Technoblade lifted him, but he was too focused on how it was all too much, too fast, and he wasn't restrained but it felt like he was trapped and gagged and stuck and-- </p>
<p>He was deposited next to the crackling purrs of a hearth, a large furred skin of some animal under him and a blanket dropped over his shoulders. The hands and arms and fingers were gone and he tucked the blanket so tight around himself he thought he might rip it. </p>
<p>"Just get warmed up there for a sec. I'm gonna grab the food and water you left." </p>
<p>He stared at the fire, stared and stared and stared and <i> he could have jumped into the lava, if he had jumped into the lava it would have been over there, nothing else would have happened after, it would have ended, it would have all ended and he wouldn't-- he wouldn't-- gods, he wouldn't--</i> he shut his eyes, buried his head in his knees and pulled the blanket over him until it was all muffled and the world shut out. </p>
<p>He distantly heard Technoblade's return, the soft clatter of glass on wood as the pig set down the bottle nearby. The retreat of hooves as he backed off and he was grateful for the space he was given to just be for a moment. </p>
<p>It was safe in the little pocket of darkness he had made for himself, he couldn't be seen from the outside, but the dark wasn't so large and yawning that anyone could hide in it. It was perfect. </p>
<p>"Hey, uh, I really don't wanna pry, but I also feel like I should maybe know why you ended up freaking the hell out after I left." </p>
<p>He swallowed, spit thick and viscous and it nearly made him gag. "Too dark." </p>
<p>"I left a torch down there for you." </p>
<p>"I put it out." </p>
<p>Silence, and then-- "Alright." </p>
<p>He poked his head out from his little blanket kingdom. He looked over to where Technoblade had sat atop one of his chests on the far side of the room. The gapple's flesh was chilled under his palm as he grabbed it and held it up towards Technoblade. </p>
<p>"If I eat this fucking apple am I gonna owe you back for it?" </p>
<p>Technoblade wrinkled his snout. "It's literally an apple, why would you owe me anything for an apple, that's dumb." </p>
<p>"Promise?" </p>
<p>"I'm not going to--" Technoblade paused and maybe it had something to do with how he had started to put it back down but-- "Fine, I promise. Satisfied?" </p>
<p>He bit into the apple and while it tasted like dirt and shit, and he was less than appetized after everything, his stomach growled and demanded he put something in it. And the motion of chewing, of taking another bite, of pressing his nails into the skin of the apple again and again, was all somehow calming. Before he knew it, he was down to the core of it. </p>
<p>"You can just toss it in the fire." </p>
<p>He threw it in and watched it immediately start to shrivel and blacken, the hiss singing in his ears as the fire threw it into its underwhelming death throes. </p>
<p>"You don't owe me for the water either." A pause. "Promise." </p>
<p>He snatched up the glass bottle, watched the water slosh around inside it and licked his lips. His tongue was so fucking dry it might as well be sand paper. </p>
<p><i>He was so fucking stupid, Technoblade had no concept of promises, the pig had literally stomped all over them right after they got L'Manberg back, what were promises to a man who watched him die, who slaughtered Tubbo, who--</i> </p>
<p>He set the bottle down, wrapped his arms around his knees and stared back at the fire. He wouldn't be tempted into this like an idiot. </p>
<p>Everything had a cost. </p>
<p>"You better have drunk that later." </p>
<p>He shot Technoblade a glare. "Shut up, bitch." </p>
<p>"At least you haven't lost your charming sense of humor." </p>
<p>"Fuck off."</p>
<p>"Or burning intellect it seems." </p>
<p>"You're fucking annoying, you know that?" He bit out, teeth bared. </p>
<p>"Takes one to know one." </p>
<p>"And I'm supposed to be the childish one." </p>
<p>"You are, quite literally, a child, Tommy." </p>
<p>"Sure, big man." </p>
<p>It fell quiet again and he avoided Technoblade's gaze by glaring at the floorboards. </p>
<p>"Please just drink the water." </p>
<p>"What if I didn't?" He spat back. </p>
<p>"I don't know, you'll have a not great time, I guess." </p>
<p>"Why do you even care?" He snarled, shoulders hiking up. </p>
<p>"Uh, 'cause you broke into my house, stole my shit, and then had like eight panic attacks in less than thirty minutes." </p>
<p>"I didn't have a fucking panic attack." </p>
<p>Technoblade looked unamused. "Interesting, because I distinctly recall you having one literally ten minutes ago." </p>
<p>He pulled the blanket tighter across his shoulders, hands curling into fists in the wool. "I don't have panic attacks…" </p>
<p>"Sure you don't." </p>
<p>"Why the fuck would you even think I was panicking? I was just-- It just--" He pulled his fists close to his sternum, blanket still clutched tight between his fingers. "I don't know, I just-- I forgot where I was." </p>
<p>"You forgot where you were?" </p>
<p>"Yeah, and what of it, bitch?"</p>
<p>Technoblade rolled his eyes. "You need new material." </p>
<p>"And you're an idiot." </p>
<p>"Stop deflecting."</p>
<p>"I'm-- I'm not fucking deflecting." </p>
<p>"You are." </p>
<p>"Well, then stop prying so damn much!" </p>
<p>"You landed yourself in my house, so unfortunately for me, you're kind of my responsibility for the next twenty four hours." </p>
<p>"Lucky you." He grumbled. </p>
<p>"Where did you think you were, Tommy?" </p>
<p>"I don't know-- I don't--" He shook his head, teeth grit. "Why does it matter-- Why does that matter, Technoblade?" </p>
<p>Technoblade shrugged. "Figured it's important so I don't accidentally cause that to happen again." </p>
<p>He huffed, a sharp exhale that left nearly as a laugh. </p>
<p>"Look, I didn't personally enjoy watching you flail around in my basement or claw at yourself on my floor. It's not exactly my idea of a good time--" </p>
<p>"I thought Dream was here." He rushed out. </p>
<p>"--and I'd like to have a peaceful night--" Technoblade blinked. "What?" </p>
<p>He didn't repeat himself. </p>
<p>"Why would he even be here? This is my house." </p>
<p>"I don't know! Aren't you two like fucking friends or something?" </p>
<p>"I mean, sort of, but not really? Honestly, it's a bit hard to read that guy, you know, considering the--" Technoblade gestured over his face. </p>
<p>"Yeah…" </p>
<p>"I can at least guarantee you he's not here, Tommy. He doesn't even know where I am...Or he shouldn't at least." </p>
<p>"You don't sound confident about that." </p>
<p>"I don't know what that man knows." Technoblade shrugged. "Why're you even scared of him anyway?" </p>
<p>"I--" His breath catches in his throat, grinding to a halt and sticking like gravel. "I--" </p>
<p>Technoblade held up his hands. "Hey, I don't need to know if it's gonna make you do all that again." </p>
<p>"It's-- He--" He tried, he really tried, really and truly tried to force it past his lips, at least some tiny miniscule, microscope scrap of it, but he couldn't-- he fucking couldn't and he clenched and unclenched his fists. </p>
<p>"Seriously, it's fine. I don't need a whole explanation. It's late anyway, you should try to get some sleep." Technoblade got up and stopped. "And drink that water." </p>
<p>He nodded, voice stuck somewhere under his sternum. He heard the door open and shut, and he wasn't sure where Technoblade was going, and he wished he had asked, but he had said Dream wouldn't find them, that he didn't know where he was. He couldn't help the way he stared at the door and expected a gloved hand to slip its way through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For more, here's<br/>Part 2 of the series: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251342">link</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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